Scarlett Flies to Neverland
by agespast
Summary: A tale of teenage rebellion and childhood fantasies. Scarlett, 17, rebels after learning of an arranged marriage she would be part of, and finds herself longing to get away, and have the freedom she wants for so long.
1. The Announcement

I knew I was in trouble the moment my parents sent for me. They hardly ever talked to me, but when they did, I hardly came out of the room crying or planning to run away.

Before I went to see them, I braced myself for an hour or two of business lectures, talks on maintaining my school grades, and the same old speech on preserving the family's name and never putting it in bad light, which my father always recited with so much conviction I've almost memorized every word.

I would've endured a day of these. What they told me was not anything I had expected _at all._

"Come in, Scarlett," my father said. My mother was sitting beside him on the couch, looking solemn. I entered the room and sat on the chair opposite them. I wasn't supposed to greet them or anything. I wasn't supposed to talk before they did. That was respect. At least, that's what my father believed in.

"Scarlett, dear," my mother began, "We've called for you tonight to discuss a really important matter."

"I know. Business. What else would you call me for, really?" Even I was surprised by the hostility in my voice. I practically snapped at them. "Sorry, go on."

"Actually, this isn't about business. Let me ask you first, are you still going out with Drew?"

My jaw dropped. First, because Mom knew there was someone called Drew that I was dating. Second, that she asked about him at all. This is very peculiar, but I had to answer. "No," I said, as if no explanation was required.

"Good. Or else, I would've told you to leave him, because…" Mom's words trailed off, like she couldn't bear to say what she wanted to. But Dad liked to get straight to the point. "Scarlett, tomorrow night, you will meet the man who will be your husband." I stifled a gasp. Confusion and disbelief nested in my brain. "You've got to be kidding me," I snapped again. "Scarlett, I never kid, and you should know that."

"But—"

"Listen to me. Don't interrupt," he said firmly. "You know that the business has never been stable since the first quarter of the year and that we're just running on savings and what little amount we're earning. Last week, however, a CEO of a respectable company promised to strike a deal with me and save our business. There was a flurry of papers to be signed, forms to be accomplished, and other things that I need not discuss to you because you still won't understand. The main bargain was this: His son is of age, and you will be in a year." I hung on, listening to every wretched word, although I thought I already knew what was coming. I desperately wished for this to be some cruel joke. My father continued, "To formally seal the deal, he wanted our children to be married. That way, neither one can back out of the agreement if something goes wrong. To save our business and to save our life, I agreed, no matter how much I hated to do it. So, tomorrow, you will meet Simon. He's a fine lad, my girl, so much better than your Drew."

That was the end of his spiel. It wasn't open for argument. No questions asked. It was the rule.

I knew this was no joke. I would be married off to a guy I didn't know just for a stupid business deal. The truth rained on me like heavy bricks. I felt my heart pound, desperately searching for a loophole, a way out of this mess. "What if I don't like to?" I asked.

"We can't do anything now," my mother said quietly.

"Why?"

"Your father and I signed the agreement itself with Simon's parents. We back out of it and the business will collapse. I know how hard this is for you-"

"No! You don't know at all!" I shouted. Even my father was taken aback. They couldn't possibly know how I feel. "You have no idea how hard this is for me. But thanks for the early information. You two are the most awesome parents in the world. Thanks a lot." Then I stalked out of the room, making sure they heard the door slam.

I was in my room before the tears started to fall. They had done it. They had stolen my whole life. When I was fifteen, they told me that I would take the course that wanted me to take in college, so I could learn how to run a business, which was their stupid business. Sitting in an office and signing papers all day wasn't my dream. I wanted so bad to take Creative Writing and be a great writer. But what could I do?

Nothing. That's what.

And just now, they delivered the best news in the best way possible. I felt like a circus animal: being told what to do to please people I didn't know, performing for them, and being locked away in a cage once I'd served my purpose.

I would be eighteen next year. Before I lose it, I might as well live the life that I want, even for just a limited time.

I lived the fast-life since then. I made friends with people generally called "bad influences". I flunked school voluntarily. I got caught trying to steal the car. I juggled boyfriends: two or three at a time. And believe it or not, I sold weed and earned a lot. I changed myself into someone unrecognizable, someone radiating youth and freedom.

But still, I was far from free. The bonds that had always been restricting me grew shorter and wider, so I couldn't go anywhere anymore. My parents banned me from going out unless I have someone they trust with me. But I paid him off. I got away easily.

One night, however, I felt the need to stay at home and wash the dark eyeliner off my face and exchange my club getup for pajamas. I didn't know why at all.

Instead of sleeping, though, I turned my laptop computer on and surfed the internet while feasting on chocolate chip cookies. Staying late at night using the computer is illegal to my parents, but I didn't care, because they already stole my life. They couldn't possibly rob me my internet privileges.

It was at that moment that the window blew open. I started to get up to close it back, but right then, I should've realized that something was wrong. But I didn't. So I almost had a cardiac arrest and died on the spot when someone came in. I bit back a scream and was planning to kick the person out when a tiny light darted in behind him, and I saw his face.

It was a face like no other. His eyes were young and bright, but I couldn't remember what their color was. His nose was small, his face naturally playful. When he smiled, I saw that he still had on all his first teeth, and the restless light beside him was a… fairy, and he was… Peter Pan.

I pinched my arm, hard. I blinked. It couldn't be.

And how did I know it was him at once? I had no idea. I just knew.

"Boy, come in," I said meekly.


	2. Come With Me

_Author's note:_

_This is a crappy chapter, nothing much would happen, but I would be glad if you'd put up with it. I'm working with what looks like a promising idea for the next chapters. I really hope it'll work. Thanks for reading. Please review!_

A shift in the atmosphere had occurred since Peter's arrival. The lights seemed to blaze brighter, and it looked like the monotonous black paint of my room turned several shades lighter. I felt a little less conflicted, a little less snappy.

Peter had bowed before me, the way he learned while watching fairy ceremonies. I bowed awkwardly, trying to look regal, but failed.

"What's your name?" the boy that colored my childhood asked.

"Scarlett Genevieve Bern," I said.

"Scarlett? I've heard prettier names," he said cockily. He then seemed to forget I was there and took interest in my laptop computer on the bed. "What's this?" he asked, and probably suspecting danger, drew out his dagger.

"No!" I cried, rushing to him. "It's a computer," I said.

"What does it do?" he asked, still cautious.

"Well, you can play games in there." At the sound of the word _games_, Peter's eyes glinted. Anyone could tell how much he loved games. "Here, I'll show you one." I clicked an icon I had unearthed in about two seconds. Later, I wondered how. I clearly remembered deleting my Games folder and emptying the Recycle Bin.

"Here, you just have to pretend you're a warrior, fight goons and save the princess tied to the mast of the ship." I showed him the controls, and he got them at once. I watched as he played, then quickly found myself wondering why he had come. The last words in the book were "And thus it will go on, so long as children are gay and innocent and heartless:" the exact opposite of me. I was trying hard to be liberated. I was clearly _not_ innocent. Gay? Forget it. My happiest moment happened when I was seven years old, when my mother finally bought me the Grande Sundae I had been drooling over. Why did Peter Pan, prince of all of Neverland come precisely to my window in this period in my life?

"Scarlett!" I realized that Peter was shouting in my ear but I hadn't heard because I was so immersed in thinking. "Is this all it has?"

"What?" Then I saw that fireworks were shooting in the screen, the trumpets were blaring triumphantly in the background. He had finished the entire game in less than fifteen minutes. Awesome. "Peter, you're a pro. It had taken me an hour to finish just one level."

"It's easy enough for me," he said, then crowed that cocky crow, a crow I would know anywhere anytime. He suddenly flew around the room, light as a feather, faster than the wind. My heart leaped in delight. It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in my miserable life. He was the most beautiful boy to ever exist.

"By the way, Peter, why did you come?" I asked.

Without pausing in his merry flight, he answered in a loud voice, "It is spring-cleaning time! Have you forgotten?"

I was suddenly conscious that my parents would hear. "Shhh, Peter. People are asleep in the room next door." He ignored me then started chasing the fairy he had come with. When he laughed, I knew I'd never heard someone laugh the way he did. He was a child, after all. "So, what if it's spring-cleaning time?"

"I can't do it alone, girl. Come with me?"

His last three words were trapped in my head.

Come with me.

Come with him.

Come with Peter Pan to Never Never Land.

The idea lured me in like a bee is lured to nectar, but a thought pulled me up short.

What would my parents say? What indeed?

Then I imagined them missing me for about two minutes and getting over it just as quick. They would forget me as soon as the phone rings. My mother would probably take a longer time to recover, but, whatever. And I would be away, never worrying about anything at all, laughing, flying, fighting, and living next to an adorable little boy. Of course, I would get what I needed all the time.

Freedom.

My heart pounded against my ribcage, driven uncontrollable by the idea of being free.

One word is all it would take, really. Then I'd be gone, never to be found, never to be married, never to inherit the family's business. My mind was working overtime, but I didn't seem to care. This could be my next happy moment after ten long years.

Come? Peter's voice echoed in my brain. I didn't know how, but the one word I'd wanted to say all along slipped out of my lips. "Yes," I said, my own voice sounding foreign. I had done it. I was finally free.

The next moments were a fast blur of happy thoughts: ice cream, music, books, walking quietly, travelling, and a sweet, tinkling sensation on my skin: fairy dust. Then all at once, I was laughing, laughing like I never had in years. I wasn't afraid. In fact, my heart had room for only one emotion: joy. My feet left the ground and I was really, literally flying, and I couldn't bring myself to think of anything else because I was so happy, so incredibly happy. My frustrations vanished, leaving a slight dark smudge in the back of my mind.

Peter's voice sounded distant, but I heard him alright. "Let's go, Scarlett!" And when he held out his hand, I took it, and away we flew, leaving the ugly, sad chunk of my life behind us. The wind bit and slapped at my skin, tiny particles kept getting into my eyes, and I was still having a hard time moving around, but I didn't care at all.

What mattered most was that Scarlett Bern was free. I wouldn't trade it for anything.


	3. The Flight

Flying, it turned out, wasn't as easy as it looked. My hair was blowing all over my face, I collided with everything that came into my path, and my feet were already numb from the cold. I should've _even _worn _slippers._ But it seemed like a minor concern then, when my emotions were way past the scale. I swerved as best as I could to avoid things such as walls, night birds, and impossibly high trees.

Despite the fact that it was spring, the wind was so chilly it pierced my skin like a double-edged blade. My arms were spread out before me, and they were already very sore. Who knew flying could be this tiring?

At least, for me. Peter Pan, on the other hand, had darted forward the second we were out my window, chasing his fairy friend. I had not seen him since. I hoped he wouldn't forget he was with someone.

I wondered how long it would take us to reach Neverland. My arms were stiff, and my legs were almost unmovable. I was already losing my sense of direction. I could end up in South America or Africa this way, but never in my destination. My heart started beating fast and hard.

The initial sense of worry I felt when that cocky boy left me alone evolved into crazy panic, making me hit the wall instead of flying _over_ it. My head took most of the impact, leaving me groggy, my vision dotted with black spots. I could be bleeding inside. I could die before I even reach the land of my dreams.

_Shut up, _I told myself. I could feel a huge welt rising in my scalp, and I swore quietly. I was beginning to lose my patience. I wondered what on earth convinced me to fly in the dead of the night with only sleeping clothes on. _Where the hell was Peter Pan?_

As if on cue, Peter appeared on my side a split second later. Annoyed, I stuck out my tongue at him. It was childish, but it was all I could think of, having lost the ability to snap. I knew it was a wrong move when he laughed and made faces at me, infuriating my already infuriated self. When he was done, he asked, "What's your name again?"

_Oh, God. _

"Scarlett. And Peter, for how long will we fly?"

"I don't know. You can sleep if you're already tired." He shrugged, and then took off again. I could tell that we were already past the city, but we were going so high up in the sky that I couldn't see the ground anymore. The wind was harsher, colder, and nastier. _Why had I worn pajamas again? _I so wanted to stop and rest, but sleep was impossible.

How could anyone fall asleep a fast thousands of feet above the ground?

But I soon got the hang of flying, which made sleep unnecessary. When I succeeded in folding my arms and doing turning somersaults in the air because I was so bored, I laughed. I tried other maneuvers, experimented on going up and down like a cork from a wine bottle. I looked stupid, but nobody was watching. I was also probably crazy, laughing all alone in the middle of the night, high up in the clouds. But again, nobody was watching.

My merrymaking ceased to a halt when suddenly, my stomach felt like it was being twisted into knots, and my heartbeat went faster, stronger, and louder. I swore I could hear it pounding. I was suddenly out of breath. And I knew why.

Because at that moment, I heard Peter Pan scream.

It was a terrifying scream, but I wasn't terrified of Peter. I was terrified _for_ him. It was a child's scream, one I couldn't get off of my ears long after it was gone.

My flying abilities exceeded my expectations when I reached the boy in two seconds flat. He was floating in the air alright, but he was bent in pain. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He cried out again, and this time, I held him close to me. "What's wrong, Peter?" But instead of words, he answered me with another painful cry.

We had stopped moving. We hovered there, me embracing Peter, because it was the only thing I could do. Whatever pain he was feeling, it was insane. He cried out again and again, and I could only tell him that it was okay, it was okay, before he went to another fit of screams.

My face was already very wet before I even noticed that I was also shedding tears of my own. You'd never heard any real cry of pain if you hadn't heard Peter. It made you heartbroken and shattered, hopeless and depressed.

I searched for assailants, but there were none. The sky was empty except for the two of us. "Peter…Peter," I said. He wouldn't look up. "Look at me, Peter. Scarlett." And even though I had no idea what to do, I put on a brave face and told him, "Hold on tight, boy. I'm going to fly us both to Neverland."

Like magic, I knew exactly where to go. I knew when to drop height, when to speed up, and when and where to turn. I got a glimpse of what I had been yearning to see all along: the second star to the right. It was there alright, twinkling, shining brighter than any other star in the night sky.

Peter stirred in my arms. He had stopped crying but was still curled up, his muscles tense. It was amazing how easily I had scooped him up, as if he weighed nothing but paper. Maybe that was because of the adrenaline that had run inside me then. Right now, I realized that he wasn't too light.

"Peter," I whispered, "I see the star, the second star to the right. We're so close to home."

At this, he slowly lifted his head up, a look on his face that showed that he didn't remember anything all too clear. "Who are you?" he asked. He'd asked me exactly thrice tonight. He really had a tendency to forget. But I'd never get tired of answering him. "I'm Scarlett, Peter."

"Oh, right. What happened?" he asked, extricating himself from my arms and flying slowly alongside me.

I didn't have the heart to tell him the truth, mainly because I didn't understand it myself, and because it would just confuse him. So I said, "You were so tired you fell asleep," but I knew it wasn't an acceptable answer to his ears. They sounded awfully bad on mine.

"No. I could fall asleep in the air, girl. You didn't have to carry me."

"Oh, um…"

But he wasn't interested. He took off again in pursuit of his fairy friend, leaving me alone. It didn't matter, though. I was so relieved at the sight of him well and cocky, that despite my mind was wide awake, it took me about a minute to fall asleep, eyes closed and all, while flying. Later, I wondered how I did it.

"—Scarlett! Wake up!" Peter was yelling in my ear. I jolted awake.

"What?" I demanded. But I didn't have the chance to wait for his answer. I had just enough alertness to grab his hand as we were sucked into a dark, swirling mass of clouds.

I heard myself screaming. Wild wind tore at my body from every direction, making every single part of me hurt. A loud, sharp sound pierced my ears. But it all happened very fast, and faster than I could close my mouth and open them for another scream, I was spit out into the open air, breathless and dizzy.

And I gasped, which made my lungs hurt.

Because right below me, as far as the eye can see, was a dazzling forest island surrounded by clear blue waters, with gorgeous towering peaks, a sun with golden rays, and a rainbow that shone like it was made of glitter. It was radiating warmth, happiness, peace, love, and life.

I was finally there. _Never Never Land_. My heart felt like it would explode.

But of course, I'd never been a candidate for experiencing longtime happiness. Because at that moment, I felt my stomach lurch and my heart slow down to a monotonous beating, producing a drum like thump-thump. The sound of death.

I had barely whipped around, but I saw it alright.

Nobody could've missed Peter Pan, prince of all of Never Land, flailing his arms, speechless, and helplessly dropping like a stone to the ground below.


	4. Fairy Court

_Author's Note: Guys, I'm sorry this one took so long. School's mean to me. I never had time until now. I hope I still have readers. Please review! XOXO_

__

"—_do you think, Elder? Does this have to do with the odd things taking place?" _

"_I do not know for sure, my young boy, but I have my presumptions; let us hope that I am wrong. As for the moment, we—she's rousing. Be there when she wakes up." _

My eyes slowly opened, and the first thing that registered was that the place I was in was bright. Not hopeful-looking-and-sunny bright, but burning-and-hard-to-look-at _bright_. When I had become accustomed to the light, things began taking shape: I was lying on something that looked like wood but was surprisingly soft, I was in a cavern-looking space, with what looked like tree roots fortifying the earthen walls, and all around me, darting every which way, were tiny creatures that produced melodious bell jingling sounds, and were those fluttering things on their backs _wings_?

Of course. No wonder the whole place was bright. I was in a fairy court.

Then, a flash flood of memories drowned my present thoughts. If only I could make them stop, I would. But I couldn't. I couldn't.

When Peter had fallen, I had seemed to have lost the ability to fly. I had just enough time to mutter a really bad word. Then there had been one, single, solitary moment of utter terror, and everything had turned into a blur of forest and ocean and sky as I myself crashed down, screaming my head off. The pain was blinding when I hit the ground. Agony. Just plain, terrorizing agony. I felt tears in my eyes. And in my mouth, there was _blood._

I remembered nothing after that.

The questions began. _Why on earth had that happened? Where was Peter? Why was I here? _

And the best one: _Was I dreaming?_

"Most certainly not," said a voice, as if reading my thoughts. I looked up and saw that the voice came from a boy about as young as me, maybe an inch shorter, wearing a shirt that looked woven from leaves and soil. He was kind-looking; with pretty hazel eyes and a small nose. He was lightly glowing, as if there was a light bulb inside him. On his back was a stunning pair of wings. A fairy.

_But why wasn't he as tiny as my fist?_

"I'm Terrence," he said, offering a hand. When I didn't shake it, he just drew his hand back and maintained a cheerful expression. "How do you feel?"

_And why did he speak English?_

"Fine," I said, and then realized how hoarse my voice was. "Why am I here?"

"You were almost dead when we saw you. All those broken bones and all that bleeding inside. Good thing Elder was here. You'd be dressed for funeral if it weren't for him."

"Your humble choice of words hypnotizes me. I appreciate it," I mumble. Well, this guy was frank.

"What?" Terrence asked, and it was certain that he did not understand sarcasm.

"Absolutely nothing." I started to get up, but realized that one big movement and my bones would scream. I winced.

Terrence looked concerned. He put his hand on my arm as if to steady me. "Don't do that again. The healing is not yet complete," he said in a soft voice, and helped me lie back down. There was silence after that. Even the jingling of bells ceased in my ears.

"Where's Peter, by the way? How is he?" I asked to break the stony quiet.

Terrence looked down and pretended to be fumble with the leaves on his shirt before he answered me. "He broke a lot of bones, including his, well, _neck_."

The force it took to open my mouth this big sent jolts of pain throughout my face, but I had to get it out. "_What?_ You healed him, didn't you?" I asked in a voice so loud. I was beginning to panic.

"No," said Terrence quietly. His face was grave. And he looked away, feigning interest in the crowd of fairies who were starting to linger around us.

"Holy—"I began, and stopped myself. Tears welled in my eyes. "Oh my God." He couldn't be, like, dead, could he? It would be like defying the laws of nature. I refused to believe it. It was a lie to make me feel bad. No. No. No.

But Terrence's eyes said otherwise.

So I let the tears fall, even if it hurt my head so much, trying at least not to bawl out loud. Sadness flowed through my veins, coating my being with ice. Soon I would be too numb to feel anything.

Then, of all things, I heard Terrence laugh like a madman.

"What now?" I asked in between sobs.

"Peter's alive," he said, breathless, cheeks flushed from laughing.

"Then why did you—"I began, wiping the wetness from my face. I cleared my head. Then I got it just one second before he told me. "I did not heal him, but someone did."

It felt like a slap.

It was the oldest and just about the corniest joke in the book. I should've said something smart, but I was so consumed by the idea of Peter Pan dying that Terrence's sentence almost brought me relief. I could not believe that I fell for that.

"Let's say that I am now done laughing from your marvelous joke. Applause and accolades and all. Where is Peter?" I demanded, my eyes still probably shiny with tears. I felt completely stupid.

"How should I know? Nobody ever had the ability and cause to follow that boy," Terrence answered, suddenly serious. I tried to spot even a tiny trace of his laugh just a second ago, but, no luck.

"Try that joke on me again and I'd kill you, I swear." I said through gritted teeth. "Where's Peter?"

"He's resting, dear." Another voice said. "And why did I hear somebody say the word 'kill'? It's unhealthy, you know." An old man with waist length hair and beard came from right of the room. He looked like Dumbledore from the Harry Potter films. But this one was taller and older. He had no visible wand, but on his belt was a sword about as high as me. Lethal-looking. Weird for a man who just said that 'kill' was an unhealthy word.

What's he do with it? Chop carrots?

"Where's Peter? I didn't ask you what he was doing," I said.

"Be polite," Terrence hissed in my ear. I glared at him, despite the effort it took me.

"No need, Terrence. You know she's been through a lot in such a short time." He turned to me. "My name is Elder," he said. "And you are-?"

"Scarlett."

"Alright, Scarlett. I believe you've already made acquaintance with Terrence here. You and Peter have both been healed, but you still need rest. When you wake up, I promise I'll bring you to Peter. This time, close your eyes and empty your mind."

I nodded, suddenly feeling drained. I couldn't have woken up for more than five minutes, but it felt like a day, and everything hurt. Soon enough, I was closing my eyes, and sank into a deep sleep.

One vile and nasty-smelling potion later, I could stand again. "Only temporarily," Elder said.

"I don't care," I said with a shrug that didn't make my shoulder scream. I grinned a little. The pain was gone. When I said I didn't care, I meant it. I just wanted to see how Peter was doing then I'd be fine.

Terrence beside me snapped, "Can't you be nice for even one second?"

"No," I said.

"Now, now," Elder interrupted, even though there really wasn't anything to interrupt. "We must go. The effect of the potion lasts indefinitely and we must not take our chances. Scarlett, after me."

I followed him out of the room and through a narrow hallway with doors on both sides. The walls were still earthen, and the doors with no knobs looked woven from sturdy grass. Elder pushed the seventh door on our right inward. He went inside, and motioned for me to follow. Terrence was behind me.

The room was almost the same as mine: fairies darting around, a huge mirror set against one of the walls, a small bedside table, and a bed.

Peter Pan was lying still. Looking at him, I felt peace in my heart. He looked so innocent, so beautiful, so young. He could've been a normal kid resting after a day's rollicking. But he was far from ordinary and resting was probably the last thing on his mind every single day. One glance was enough for me, or anyone, really, to notice that something was horribly wrong. Whatever the reason for his fall and that terrible screaming on our flight, it was seriously ripping him apart. And it was breaking my stone of a heart to watch him like that.

I didn't realize how silent it was. Except for the sounds of breathing of the four of us, there was quietude that seemed to stretch on forever. It was Terrence's turn to break it. "The fairies, Elder," he said. "The fairies."

Suddenly, the glow in the room seemed to fade. I turned, only to catch a glimpse of about a dozen fairies keeling over in the air, their lights going out, sputtering like a candle when you drop water onto the flame. Then they dropped to the ground.

Dead. Tiny. Insignificant.

A gasp escaped my mouth. It was also at that moment when Peter started convulsing in his sleep. I rushed to his bed, and saw that he was shaking so hard that sweat ran down his face and arms. I held his hand, speaking to him in a soothing voice I didn't know I possessed, telling him, "It's just a dream, Peter. Just a dream. Wake up, wake up." Even Elder looked like he didn't know what to do.

I was close to tears when Peter finally quieted down. I reached forward instinctively to touch his forehead. It was burning with fever. I brushed his red hair away from his eyes and looked at him for a long time, the way a mother would have looked at her sick child. I didn't know for sure if I looked like that, but I felt like it.

I heard Elder order Terrence to take the dead fairies' bodies away. Terrence nodded gravely and went to gently pick the tiny things from the ground. He placed them on his right palm, side by side. He looked unhinged. I never knew those fairies, but it ached inside to think that where there had been light and glee, now there was only darkness and despair.

And, even holding Peter's fever-hot hand, I knew I'd never felt colder in my life.


	5. Fire In Her Veins

"Just why did _that_ happen?"

Elder did not respond. He just looked straight ahead, like he was so concentrated in walking. Like he would trip if he opened his mouth to even acknowledge my question. I turned to Terrence and repeated my question. This time, I got a response.

"Shut up. "

It wasn't the answer to my question, but I didn't press on. I got the feeling that I really did _have _to shut up. We walked in silence. My mouth was sealed, but I couldn't turn my thoughts off. Peter Pan was sick. No one would tell me why. Then, just a while ago, fairies dropped dead in mid-dance. Still, nobody told me why. And now, the only people I know in this wretched place could not even look at me. What was going on?

We passed identical doors and walls, and nothing stirred. Except for our footsteps, which were barely audible on the earthen floor, the whole place was silent. Everyone seemed to have heard of the death of the fairies, and now they were quietly grieving. In the silence and the heaviness that hung in the air, I allowed myself to think of home. I hadn't been gone a long time yet. Had they already found out that I was really missing? That I wasn't just spending the weekend in a friend's house without permission: something I was an expert at? Had my friends already noticed I wasn't in our favorite club tonight?

Maybe 'friends' was too deep a word. They were only there when I treated them their favorite drinks, when I was passing them notes at school. But it was fine, because I did the same to them. We were all just pretty faces with rich parents and non-desirable attitudes. No one would ever mistake us for real people.

_Too long. _

We had been walking too long. We should have arrived back in my room five minutes ago. Wha—Oh. We were walking slowly. Too slowly.

I guess it had to with the death of the fairies. Maybe this was a tradition and—"Aaagh!" I screamed. Pain shot up my legs and burned like liquid fire. I crumbled to the ground, unable to carry my weight. I saw Terrence looking at me suspiciously at first, but his expression changed to something like concern. I screamed again, this time with tears welling in my eyes. Soon the pain was all over my body, wrecking my frame with wave upon wave of fire. I heard Elder say, "The potion. Terrence, carry her to her room."

I shut my eyes. Red spots danced across the darkness. Arms wrapped around me, carefully, but I still roared in pain. A little movement will set me on fire even more. I felt my body pressed against someone else's: Terrence's. He was warm, just adding to the sensation of burning that was already driving me mad. He started walking fast.

"Terrence! What are you doing?" Elder said in a barely controlled shout.

"Carrying Scarlett to her room, as you said." Terrence answered.

"Why are you running? You are breaking tradition! Come here!"

All I could think of was: _I hate fire. I hate fire. I hate fire._

"She's in pain!" Terrence was shouting now. "What, do we wait for her to die before I run?"

_I hate fire. No more fire, please. I hate fire._

It was by then that Terrence really started running, because Elder's angry voice faded fast behind us. Little slivers of pain still danced across my limbs. My torso also hurt; because I kept it cramped for fear that the fire would also spread there. It was frustrating to be awake when this kind of thing happened; I wished I was unconscious, or better yet, dead. I was pretty sure that death felt better than this.

My head started throbbing. I felt Terrence's chest heave up and down against my shoulder as he ran. His grip on my arms and on the back of my knees worsened the pain, but I had enough sense to make sure that I'd thank him for this _if_ I survive. The fire inside me had not dulled even one degree. And as if it wasn't terrifying enough, a vision flashed before my closed eyes.

_I saw a forest; I had a vague feeling that I'd seen it before. It would have been beautiful, if it hadn't been on _fire_. Fairies and animals darted every which way, trying to escape the fire's deadly tendrils. Smoke curled up in the sky. I could almost smell the stench of burning trees and earth. A lone deer had a broken leg and he couldn't run. He whinnied as he tried to get up, struggling to balance on three legs. Each time he tried, he collapsed hopelessly on the ground, defeated. His eyes revealed an image of fear and horror. He knew what was coming. The fire reached out for him, as if it had a life of its own. The deer made a pathetic noise as the fire caught him alive. Then he was no more. _

The vision faded, leaving me worse than ever, but this time, what felt like actual softness spread under me. The grip of Terrence's arms was gone. "If you can hear me, Scarlett, listen. You'll be alright. It's just the potion you took: it lost its effect earlier than we assumed, but you'll be fine," he said.

"Thanks," I tried to mumble, but what came out was just a hideous squeak. I probably sounded like a pathetic animal to him.

"Rest now if you want to wake up in time for dinner," Terrence said to me. "I'll go."

The pain abated just a fraction of a degree, but I was so exhausted that the moment I heard the door to my room creak as Terrence went out, I fell asleep. However, I did not get the rest I wished I would. My slumbering hours were plagued by nightmares, visions of horrible things, and the memory of Peter Pan falling like a stone to the ground. That particular image played again and again inside my head. I felt like I was suffocating.

And then I woke up.

The pain was completely gone. I sighed in relief. Unlike when I first saw this room, the fairies were gone. Everyone had begun mourning. Only a few low-burning candles flickered in the darkness. I tiptoed my way out, glad for the gloom, because no one could see the redness and the swelling of my eyes. I had been crying in my sleep.

I wandered this way and that, with no particular destination in mind. I met no one. My stomach grumbled. I'd slept a lot, but I hadn't eaten anything since my last chocolate chip cookie at home, so I decided to look for the kitchen, or whatever odd counterpart they have here in Neverland.

I pushed several doors open, but found nothing that looked like it would hold food. There were a huge armory, with a collection of battle axes, maces, swords, bows, and others I didn't recognize, a room full of potions of different colors in flasks and containers of various shapes and sizes, and a vast area with gigantic chandeliers and a precious diamond throne at the other end. I found several more rooms like mine, but no kitchen.

I was becoming increasingly frustrated by the time I bumped into Terrence.

"Oh, you're awake!" he said, surprised.

"No, sir, I am asleep right now, and I was under the impression I was in my room," I said out loud, because I was a bit conscious of him hearing my hungry stomach grumble. Plus, I was pissed at the fact that I couldn't find any food in this accursed place.

"You know, you could stop being sarcastic all the time," he said so fast I was shocked. My first impression of him turned out wrong. He could understand sarcasm, and I was ready to bet he could speak that language.

"No, I'm afraid I wouldn't do that."

"Why, might I ask?"

I wanted to say that sarcasm masks the deepest of emotions; that it makes things appear lighter than they really are, that sarcasm is the perfect tool for a troubled teenager, a teenager who will be married off to a stranger in the next year.

But I just said, "I'm hungry, okay? Show me the dining room."

"I take it that it's not open for discussion, although I could guess that it's because you're hiding the truth that you are betrothed to a man you do not know."

"Wrong answer," I said coolly, like it was nothing, but my heart was beating fast. How did he know that?

Terrence grinned. "Wrong, indeed. It's just a hypothesis. Come on, let's eat."

I followed him to the dining room, where we ate a good, hearty meal composed of root crops and fruits. I did not talk anymore, and Terrence didn't look like he wanted to, either. After, I thanked him for the meal, like a good lady and all, but all that time thoughts were running through my brain. He knew about the arranged marriage, and I was sure he knew more about me than I would care to share with him, or with anyone.

I could be a professional trash-talker. Or the Sarcasm Queen of all of London. But somebody knew what and where my soft spot was. If all this were a game, it's just the first level, but I was already losing.


End file.
